


The Search for Weasel's Keep

by Arnel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 10:44:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20152336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arnel/pseuds/Arnel
Summary: On a broom ride in the country, newly weds Ron and Hermione Weasley make a discovery.





	The Search for Weasel's Keep

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written five years ago as part of a larger work that was lost in two separate computer crashes. That story was about the renovation of Harry's family estate, Snidget's Haven, which Ron and Hermione helped with. I hope someday to rewrite that story, so in the meantime, enjoy this one.

**Saturday, 2 June 2001**

Ron put down the newspaper he was reading and looked across the breakfast table at his wife. Hermione was dressed in her typical Saturday morning garb of the revealing red silk peignoir set and matching slippers Ginny had given her for a wedding present. Ron appreciated how the ensemble accentuated his wife’s curves as she sat with a cup of tea at her elbow and her nose in a huge, old tome she would inevitably call “light reading.” Her empty plate had a few scone crumbs on it and as he watched, a delicate finger reached out to pick up the last tasty morsel. Hermione looked relaxed and content and he hoped she would agree to what he wanted to propose.

Clearing his throat, he broke their silence. “Could we go for a fly today? It’s perfect weather for a leisurely ride.”

Hermione put down her book and smiled at him. “Would you hold me like you did the last time?” she asked, her eyes dancing. “I don’t want to fall off.”

Ron grinned back at her, remembering. “That was the idea,” he said. “Do you want to pack a lunch and a few blankets? We could find a secluded spot for lunch…” he let the rest of the sentence hang, knowing Hermione would easily add her own seductive thoughts.

She drained her tea cup and stood up. “Would four sandwiches be enough?” she asked.  
“I think so,” he replied and stood up as well. “I’ll get the basket, blankets and my broom,” he added.

Twenty minutes later, Ron locked the door to their flat and they strolled out into the bright June morning. The village of Wellington was a riot of colourful flowers as they made their way to a distant Apparition point Hermione liked to use during the summer for the exercise the walk provided. True, they weren’t Apparating, but the location was secluded enough to use for launching two people into the air on a broom without detection by Muggles.

Once they were airborne, Ron headed northeast towards Bristol. The land between Wellington and Bristol was dotted with ponds and wooded areas just perfect for picnicking, and by the time they reached the perfect place, both Ron and Hermione were ready for something more than just lunch.

“If we’re going all the way to Bristol, can you take us over the Mendip Hills?” Hermione asked a long time later as she buttoned her blouse.

Ron pulled his shirt over his head. “Sure. Any particular reason why?”

“It’s pretty country and it would be fun to see the Wells Cathedral from the air,” Hermione answered as she wrestled her hair back into its Alice band.

“Wells isn’t too far from here,” Ron said. He swung his leg over his broom and sat waiting for her to climb on. “You ready?”

“Let me shrink the basket.” Hermione pulled out her wand and reduced both the basket and blankets to pocket-size and then climbed on in front of him. Ron pushed off and as they rose above the trees, Hermione cast an illusion charm that made the broom look like an ultra-light airplane to Muggles on the ground.

They never made it to Bristol. Just north of the city of Wells, they discovered an old house with “For Sale” painted in colour-changing paint on its roof.

“Want to take a closer look?” Ron asked, descending from cruising altitude a little.

“Could we?”

“Sure.”

Ron descended until he felt the pulse of a magical barrier.

“Hermione, I think the estate is magically protected,” he said.

“I feel it too, Ron, but I’d still like a closer look.”

“I’ll see how close I can get,” he told her.

By maintain a distance of about sixty feet above the ground, Ron was able to fly fairly close to the house. It was made of fieldstone as were the dry walls lining the lane leading up to it from the road. Its two stories looked well-preserved as did the garden and open fields surrounding it.

“Oh, Ron! I love this house!” Hermione exclaimed. “Do you think we could find out more about it?”

“Sure, but who would we ask?”

“I saw a pub down the road about a mile back. Maybe someone there would know who to talk to.”

Ron considered the suggestion. “It’s worth a try,” he finally agreed, and began looking for a place to land. He chose a wooded park near the pub and after shrinking and pocketing the broom, he took Hermione’s had in his and they wandered towards the pub.

“Welcome, what can I getcha?” the bartender asked as they slid onto two stools at the bar.

“Two pints. One lager, one your best bitter,” Ron told him, thankful for the many times he’d ordered beer at the Seldom Inn with Harry.

“You’re not from around here,” the bartender observed as he drew their pints. “Just passing through?”

“We are,” Hermione replied. “Oh, this is delicious!” she exclaimed after her first sip of lager. 

The bartender smiled. “Brewed it myself. Glad you like it.”

Ron sipped his bitter. It went down smoothly and he murmured appreciatively. “What do you know about the old house down the road?” he asked. “The one with the ‘For Sale’ sign.”

The bartender stopped wiping glasses and raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you want to know about that bombed-out ruin?”

“We saw the sign and wanted to talk to the owners about it,” Hermione said.

“You developers or something? ‘Cause the owner won’t sell to no developers,” the bartender said.

“This would be a private sale. We are interested in renovating the house,” Ron said hastily.

“That house has been vacant since 1941,” the bartender told them. “The owner’s family left after the bombing of the Bristol aircraft factories during the second World War. I’d wager the place is ready to fall apart by now.”

“What happened to it?” Hermione asked.

“Plane crash and fire,” answered the bartender. “Some Nazi bloke augured in after being hit by anti-aircraft fire. Constable found him hanging from a tree tangled in his parachute and carted him off to a nearby prison camp for interrogation. Nobody ever knew what happened to him. Don’t care, either.”

“So the family living in the house just up and left?” Ron asked.

“Yep. They did. The house was too damaged to live in. Nobody’s lived there since. Some folks even say the place is haunted. How come you’re interested?”

“Historical reasons,” Hermione said as Ron answered, “Façade’s good. Gut the place and build inside. Cheaper than buying new.”

The bartender considered this. Finally, he said, “If you’re willing to keep the façade, you might get lucky. When do you want to speak to the owner?”

“Today?” Hermione asked, looking excited.

The bartender shrugged. “Makes no difference when, really. The elderly owner has turned down so many people I’ve lost count.” He slid a piece of paper across the bar to Ron. “Here’s her number. There’s a phone box down the street a way. Good luck getting an appointment.”

Ron looked at the name and number on the paper and handed it to his wife. “You can handle the call, love,” he whispered.

Hermione took it and put it in her pocket. “Sure thing, love,” she said, sliding from her stool. “Be right back.” 

As she exited, Ron ordered another bitter.

Hermione was back in less than twenty minutes. Ron watched her eagerly as she took her seat again. “Any luck?”

She leaned close so only Ron would hear. “We have an appointment in forty minutes with Mrs Bashford, the owner,” she told him. “Finish your beer. We need to leave soon in order to be convincing that we’re walking instead of Apparating,” she whispered in his ear.

Two big pulls later, Ron slapped more than enough Muggle money on the bar and called to the bartender, “Thanks. We’ll be seeing you.”

Hermione then grabbed his hand and practically towed him out of the pub.

“How come you’re so excited, Hermione?” he asked as the door shut behind them.

“Oh, Ron, I asked about the price and she quoted me fifteen thousand Galleons for the house and the land!” Hermione squealed. “That’s within our price range and even if we can’t move in right away because it needs repairs, maybe we can get Harry and Ginny to help us with the renovations. And even if it is liveable and Mrs Bashford won’t come down on price maybe we can borrow from our parents or Harry and Ginny or George. Ron, I want that house!”

“Whoa! Slow down, love,” Ron said, stopping in the middle of the pavement to face his wife. “I know you want the house and I do too, but I won’t borrow money from my family to pay for it.”

“What about the goblins?” she asked petulantly.

“It’s embarrassing, Hermione. I just can’t be indebted to my family or anyone else for that matter.”

Hermione frowned. “Why? My parents took out a loan with a bank to pay for their house. Why shouldn’t we?”

Ron was suddenly interested in his trainers. “If I asked George, I’d never hear the end of it. Sure, he’d lend us the money, but the teasing would never stop,” he explained without looking up. “Harry and Ginny would gladly lend to us and not charge interest like George would. My parents would probably give us the money, if they had it and I think yours would, too. Honey, I just want to provide a house for you on my own and borrowing from family or the goblins makes me feel poor all over again when I’m finally beginning to feel solvent. Don’t make me borrow two thousand Galleons, please!” The last word came out as an embarrassing plea and Ron felt his ears grow hot. Unable to cope with his raging emotions, he shifted his gaze from the ground to a sign above his wife’s head and thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. The next instant, Hermione had enveloped him in a hug worthy of his mother.

“Oh, Ron, I would never do such a thing!” she exclaimed. “Let’s just go talk to Mrs Bashford and see if she’ll come down a bit on the price.”

A relieved sigh escaped Ron and he nodded. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “Where do we need to go?”

Hermione took out the piece of paper with the phone number on it and turned it to the back. She showed it to Ron, who studied it for several seconds. “Let’s go back to that park,” he suggested.

Hermione agreed and they set off at a brisk walk. Ten minutes later, they popped into existence in the front garden of a quaint little cottage. An elderly lady was sitting at a table under a big tree. The table was set with tea for three. “Are you Ron and Hermione, my dears?” she asked. “I’m Hazel Bashford,” she added when Ron and Hermione confirmed their identity.

“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” Ron said.

“You’re welcome, although the pleasure is all mine, considering that it isn’t every day that two heroes from the Battle of Hogwarts Apparate into my front garden,” she said with a wink. “Please, come sit down. We can talk much easier over tea.”

“How did you know who we are?” Ron asked once they were seated.

“Bewitched telephone,” Mrs Bashford answered. “Besides, the bar tender recognized you and called to tell me he had given you my phone number just before Hermione called me. Everyone who is magical around here is very protective of me.”

“I noticed the For Sale sign just outside the lane to the house,” Hermione said. “Does it say something different for Muggles?”

“It does. Muggles are warned to beware of dog and not to trespass. Only witches and wizards see the For Sale sign,” Mrs Bashford explained.

“Why do you want to sell the estate?” Ron asked.

Mrs Bashford put down her cup with a sigh. “I’m dying of the Muggle illness cancer,” she said. “I don’t have very long to live and I have no descendants. If I die without naming an heir, the house and all of my property will go to the Ministry. I don’t want that to happen, so I’ve priced the estate well under what it’s worth in the hope of finding someone who will make it into a family home once again. I’ve talked to only a few people and have liked none of the potential buyers.”

“How come?” Ron asked.

“I didn’t like their plans for the property,” Mrs Bashford answered. “What will you do with it if you buy my estate?” 

Ron shared a look with Hermione. “It will be our family home,” he replied sincerely. “We want to raise our family there.”

“We’ve been looking at properties all over Devon, Somerset and Dorset, but haven’t found an estate that feels like home,” Hermione added. “Your estate is the first that felt that way to me.”

Ron stared at his wife. He knew that she’d wanted a real house instead of a flat since they’d married, but the fact that she had actually looked at some properties was news to him. He caught her attention and raised an eyebrow, asking When? She mouthed, Later, as Mrs Bashford passed a plate of biscuits. Ron took only one.

Mrs Bashford now said, “You won’t raze the house to build one of your own?”

“Absolutely not!” Hermione protested indignantly. “That’s an historical building! Razing a piece of English history is unthinkable!”

Mrs Bashford smiled. “I believe you,” she said. “You’re a very passionate young lady, Hermione. I can tell you appreciate and have learned from the past. Few young people do these days.”

“Would you tell us what happened to the house, please?” Ron asked. “We were told it was a bombed-out ruin.”

Mrs Bashford looked sad as she began relating her tale. “I was newly wed to my Ned, a dashing young Muggle-born private in the King’s Army, when the Blitz started in 1940. The Germans were bombing all the major English factory cities and Bristol was one of the hardest hit because of its aircraft factories and shipping harbour. One night in February of 1941, Bristol was hit by hundreds of German bombs which damaged the city and surrounding areas. My Ned was one of the soldiers defending the city when a bomb exploded in the building next to his bunker. He was gravely injured by flying shrapnel. It was a miracle that he lived at all. Sadly, not even magic could cure his injuries. He was never the same after that night.” Mrs Bashford paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “You may wonder why Ned wasn’t fighting in France or North Africa, the main theatres of the war at the time. You see, Britain’s magical community had the option of staying in Britain to protect the homeland against Grindelwald’s forces or joining the troops on the Continent. Because Ned and I were newlyweds, he opted to stay closer to home and was assigned to help the people of Bristol protect their homes and businesses.

“Anyhow, the same night as the raid that injured Ned, one of the disabled German planes broke through the enchantments surrounding the estate and crashed into the north corner of the house. The damage was easily repaired, but since Ned was bed-ridden and needed constant care, I magically repaired the house and purchased this cottage, which was much easier for Ned to live in. Still, for the next thirty years, we tried living in Hilltop House for short periods of time, but we were never as happy there as we were in this cottage. I finally closed the estate for good twenty years ago after Ned’s death. It’s been vacant ever since.” Her hands trembled as she reached into a pocket and drew out a handkerchief. “It’s time that house came alive again,” she sniffed. “It deserves to be lived in and loved. It’s my one regret that I couldn’t live there with the wizard I loved and the family we might have created together. The war tore so many families apart…”

Ron felt rather choked up by Mrs Bashford’s story and found himself relating to her sorrow. Glancing at Hermione, he said, “The wars with Voldemort did, too. Many of our friends and family were victimized by the Death Eaters, some of whom can’t leave St. Mungo’s.” Thinking about Fred’s unexpected death he asked, “Was your husband’s passing peaceful?” 

“It was, thankfully,” Mrs Bashford answered. “When I die in a few months I will be buried next to him and we’ll be together once again.”

“I’m glad,” Ron told her sincerely. He let a moment go by and then asked, “Do the Muggles know what you call the house?”

Mrs Bashford laughed sadly. “No one in Wells remembers the name. In fact, if you were to rename the estate, it might bring happiness to it. Do you have a name in mind?”

Ron grinned as he and Hermione replied in unison, “Weasel’s Keep!”

Mrs Bashford clapped her hands and laughed as she exclaimed, “Oh, that’s a grand name! Very fitting, I think!”

“Then you’ll sell the estate to us?” Ron blurted, failing miserably at trying not to sound too hopeful. Hermione kicked his ankle, making him yelp, which succeeded in causing Mrs Bashford to smile at their antics.

“To answer your question, yes, I think I’ve found my buyers,” the elderly witch said. “My price is fifteen thousand Galleons, if you wish to purchase the estate.”

The happy feeling that had sprung up inside him popped like a balloon. “I’m sorry, Mrs Bashford, but I, we, haven’t saved that much and we were prepared to arrange for full payment today,” he said sadly, and rising to his feet. He gestured to Hermione. “Come on, love. We’ve wasted enough of Mrs Bashford’s time today.”

Hermione nodded, looking as if she were about to cry, and followed Ron towards the garden gate.

“Wait!” Mrs Bashford commanded. “If you can transfer the gold to my Gringotts vault within twenty-four hours, I’ll cut the price to thirteen thousand-five hundred.”

Ron turned back as Hermione said, “Make it thirteen even and we’ll transfer the gold this afternoon.”

Mrs Bashford took a moment to answer. “Thirteen thousand even it is. May I have your word on this transaction?”

Ron stepped over to her and held out his hand. As she took it, he said, “I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, promise to transfer thirteen thousand Galleons to the vault of Hazel Bashford by the close of business today.” When it became apparent he had finished his promise, their hands glowed red, sealing Ron’s part of the agreement.

Mrs Bashford then added, “Upon receipt of the thirteen thousand Galleons from Ronald and Hermione Weasley, I, Hazel Bashford, will relinquish all claims to my family home, Hilltop House, which will be known as Weasel’s Keep from that time forward.” Her promise finished, their hands glowed green and Mrs Bashford smiled up at him. “You will receive the deed to the estate from the goblins when you transfer the gold.”

Ron slipped his hand from hers and said, “Thank you. We must be off now.”

Hermione lingered just long enough to thank Mrs Bashford and ask if they could see the house on their way to London.

“I don’t see why not. Give me a moment and I will lift the enchantments for a half hour. That should give you enough time to go through the house from top to bottom,” she said, smiling.

Ron waved as they Apparated away.

*****

They materialized on the lane leading up to Hilltop House. Ron looked at his watch, noting the time.

“Ron,” Hermione said hesitantly, “Was it wise to not take a look at the house before we bought it?”

Ron laughed nervously. “Probably not. Let’s go see what she sold us. Even if it’s unliveable, we have the land we wanted. Besides, it’s much closer to Ottery St Catchpole than Ginny and Harry’s estate, or any of their other properties, for that matter. Mum will be thrilled we’re going to be so close.”

“True,” Hermione mused. “And you didn’t promise anything other than prompt payment, so if it is a total wreck, I won’t feel guilty about tearing the house down and starting over. George would be proud us, I think.”

Ron draped an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Come on, wife, time’s a-wasting.”

*****

At first glance Hilltop House looked about a third the size of Harry and Ginny’s Snidget’s Haven. The weathered grey stone shown warmly in the afternoon sun as they approached. Ron boldly put his hand on the front door knob and couldn’t help smiling when it turned easily, and didn’t hex him to high heaven. As the door shut behind them, he whistled appreciatively at the oak panelling lining the walls of the entrance hall.

“This is beautifully preserved,” Hermione commented as she stroked her hand across the wood.

Ron made a noise of agreement, but was focused on the room to his right. It was clearly the sitting room, for it had an enormous fireplace at the far end. “Come see this, Hermione,” he called.

She came in and exclaimed happily over the size of the room and then suggested crossing over to the room to the left of the entrance. This room had built-in china cabinets, which were painted white to match the walls.

“I can display our wedding china!” she exclaimed happily.

They passed by the stairwell in favour of searching the rest of the ground floor rooms at the back of the house.

“I claim this room as my study!” Hermione declared when they entered a small room lined with bookcases.

“What will I do for an office?” Ron asked. “I need a place to think, too.”

“We can convert one of the bedrooms,” Hermione told him, “or we can convert the cellar.”

“Sounds good,” he agreed.

The last room on the ground floor was the kitchen. It seemed to take up about two-thirds of the back of the house and Hermione’s beaming smile when he entered was all Ron needed to know his wife was pleased with it.

“Your mum is going to be so jealous,” she giggled. “We have a bigger kitchen than she does.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that!” Ron laughed. “Shall we go upstairs?”

There were four bedrooms of various sizes on the first floor and two bathrooms. Ron agreed with Hermione that the largest bedroom with its own bath would be their bedroom and the smallest would be his office. While they were up there, Ron found the trap door to the attic and pulled down the magical extension ladder and climbed up. The empty attic made it easy to search for damage from water or animals, but he saw none. Even when he cast some of the detection spells he and Harry had used at Snidget’s Haven, the results showed no hidden damage. He climbed down and asked Hermione, “Wanna see the cellar?”

“Yes. I hope it’s not too musty-smelling.”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

They trouped down the two flights of stairs and entered the cellar. Again, Ron whistled appreciatively. “You’re happy with the china cabinets upstairs,” he said, turning to his wife. “Well, I’m amazed at the work benches and storage cupboards down here,” he told her.

They found a cistern in one corner and Ron tested the water for cleanliness. “Fresh,” he reported, “and microbe and algae free.”

“Hot water tank?” Hermione asked. “The house did belong to Muggles once, according to Mrs Bashford.”

Ron lit his wand and found the tank in another corner. “For now, cold and empty,” he said, banging on the side. “I just hope it’s not rusty inside.”

“That will easily be taken care of,” Hermione said confidently, winking at him.

“I’ll just have to pick Dad’s brain again for appropriate spells,” Ron said, looking at his watch. “Time to go. We have three minutes to get outside the enchantments.”

They quickly exited the house and then Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron in London.

*****

Gringotts was nearly empty of customers when Ron and Hermione walked through the bronze doors of the bank. Even after three years, the new doors still intimidated him a little; the goblins had enchanted them to close and lock any time he, Harry or Hermione walked through them. Essentially, until their business was concluded satisfactorily to the goblins, Ron and Hermione were now trapped inside the bank.

My business in legitimate, Ron steeled himself.

“What may I do for you, Mr Weasley?” the nearest goblin asked.

“I’d like to transfer thirteen thousand Galleons from my vault to this one,” Ron stated, handing over a piece of parchment with Mrs Bashford’s vault number written on it.

The goblin took it. “Gurduk!” he called, and another goblin joined them. “Fetch the deed to the Bashford estate. Hazel Bashford has finally sold the property.”  
Hermione nudged Ron, leaned in close and whispered, “They seem happy. Why?”

“It’s a wild guess, but I think the goblins get a large percentage from the sale,” Ron ventured.

“That makes sense.”

The first goblin finished writing on a form and handed it and a quill to Ron. “Sign in the high-lighted boxes. Initial at the X’s,” he instructed.

Ron stared at the form, unable to read the document, for it was written in Gobbledegook. Ron handed the parchment to Hermione. “Can you understand this?” he asked. 

Hermione pulled out her wand and tapped the parchment. “Translation charm. You should be able to understand it now,” she said. 

“Thanks, love,” Ron said, patting her hand.

It appeared the goblins were going to get twenty-five percent of the profit in a few days’ time. Ron thought that was a bit steep, but really, it wasn’t his problem. He signed and initialled where he needed, handed over his key and the parchment and five minutes later, Gurduk handed over the deed to the newly named Weasel’s Keep.

“Would you like to put that in your vault?” The first goblin asked, indicating the deed.

“Not just yet,” Hermione said as she shrank the document and pocketed it and her wand. “We’re taking this home to read it thoroughly.”

“As you wish,” replied the goblin dismissively.

Hermione wrapped her fingers around Ron’s bicep. “Come on. Let’s go home,” she said.

“Which one?” Ron asked with a smile.

“The flat,” Hermione answered, grinning. “We have a lot of packing to do.”


End file.
